


Kit and Kin

by AMarguerite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Adoption, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Fix-It, Happy Ending, M/M, Raising Harry, Young Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:04:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMarguerite/pseuds/AMarguerite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Dursleys prove disobliging and the Death Eaters prove rather more tenacious than expected, Minerva McGonagall absconds with Harry Potter and decides to raise him as her own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the popular tumblr post by meoplelikepeople, I give you Mama McGonagall. (And thanks, as ever, to Pip for beta-reading!)

It occurred to Minerva McGonagall, as she watched Albus Dumbledore deposit a sleeping infant on a doorstep, that her mentor was one, born in the Victorian era, and two, unused to dealing with children younger than eleven.

“You can’t leave a baby on a doorstep,” she objected. “Albus--”

Young Mr. Potter, already awakened by Hagrid’s wet and whiskery kiss, now seemed to miss the furnace-like warmth a man of Hagrid’s general girth could provide. He raised his tiny fists to the sky and wailed.

Minerva said, “Tch,” impatiently, and stooped to pick the baby up. Hagrid was weeping and useless, Albus so old-fashioned in manner and mindset as to be out of touch with current reality-- ‘Men,’ she thought, not for the first time, ‘are useless lumps if something happens in defiance of their ideas of the world.’

“What a wee bairn,” she murmured, gently bouncing the baby, as she had used to do with her brothers, and then with their children. It was depressing to think she might soon be doing it to the children of her nieces and nephews. “Poor wee one, what a to do today....”

Albus had pulled out his wand. “Let us give Mr. Potter one last gift before we depart-- that of sweet, restoring sleep.”

Minerva did not much approve of using magic on babies unless it was to clean nappies or bibs, and so deftly shifted the young Mr. Potter so that she would be in the way of any spell Albus meant to cast. “He’ll settle in a mo,” she said, soothingly, to Albus. Men who had never been around babies, in Minerva’s experience, often needed to be treated as second children.

Before young Mr. Potter’s cries could fade into hiccups, a second child began to wail, as if in sympathy. Its screams grew louder and Minerva revised her opinion. The other child was trying to out scream Mr. Potter-- she narrowed her eyes. The other child was that horrible Muggle boy, whose idea of fun was kicking his mother. What an example for a wizard, who would have enough problems controlling his magic as a child--

The lights in the house turned on.

It was startling to see them, in a street otherwise lit only by the headlamp of a flying motorbike.

Hagrid tried to stifle his howls. “S-sorry Professor, yeh told me I’d wake the M-Muggles!”

Young Mr. Potter was still sobbing into Minerva’s shoulder. She patted him soothingly on the back.

“We must go Minerva,” said Albus, quietly.

“You can,” said Minerva, suddenly making up her mind, “but I will not. I refuse to leave a child to be brought in with the milk bottles, or to let anyone know of the death of a loved one by discovering their orphaned nephew on their doorstep.” She managed to get her wand out one-handed and turned her emerald cloak into a respectable, if rather severe green coat, and her black robes into a high-collared, long-sleeved dress. She couldn’t quite recall current Muggle fashion trends, but she fancied she dressed as a conservative Muggle her own age might have done.

“Everything is explained in the letter--”

“I would prefer it if someone told me if Malcom or Robert had passed on,” said Minerva, “as I’m sure Aberforth would, had anything happened to you.” And that was the end of that line of argument. Besides, a window was opening above, and a mustachio’d man looking down upon them in utmost perplexity.

“I-- what-- what--” he spluttered.

A woman’s voice came wafting out the window, abjuring her husband to get whoever it was outside to go away, as they were disturbing the baby.

“No choice now,” said Minerva, pointedly.

Albus looked briefly irritated, but this did not last long. He was as gracious in defeat as he was in triumph, and was able to look smilingly up and say, “Good evening, Mr. Dursley. We realize our visit is... unexpected, but it is necessary. Perhaps we might discuss this indoors?”

The Dursleys seemed to think this better than having such an odd collection of people before their home, but not by much. They sent furious glares at the three people cammed into their sitting room, and Mrs. Dursley, jiggling her now merely grumbling baby in her arms, kept her distance.

“Mrs. Dursley,” said Albus, at his most charming, “I regret to inform you that your sister and her husband were murdered by Lord Voldemort this evening, leaving your nephew Harry an orphan.”

Mrs. Dursley stared at him, as if none of the words she’d heard had been at all understood.

Mr. Dursley looked as if he wasn’t sure if he should look fierce or sympathetic, and settled for looking slightly concussed.

Minerva stepped forward a little. The sight of her sensible shoes and severe, Muggle coat seemed to reassure them. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Dursley mumbled her thanks, in a dazed way.

Mr. Dursley said, “Er, is that, er...”

“This is your nephew, Harry,” said Minerva. “He’s about your own boy’s age, I think.” It was probably the time to compliment the little terror squirming in Mrs. Dursley’s arms, but she could only manage a dry, “My, your son is... spirited.”

The Dursleys mumbled their agreement, or so Minerva assumed. Their child had decided at that moment to scream, “WANNA SWEETIE!”

“I am fond of sweets myself,” said Albus.

Minerva ignored him, and rather wished he hadn’t spoken. By the looks of it, Mrs. Dursley had just remembered that the people before her were witches and wizards.  Minerva tried to redirect her thoughts into a more respectable avenue. “I had the great pleasure of teaching your sister--”

“Oh teaching her?” said Mrs. Dursley, seizing onto this, looking as if she was surfacing from an unexpected swim. “Teaching her how to be a witch in that-- that horrible school of yours! If she hadn’t gone and gotten herself tangled up in the lives of those-- those freaks with odd names, she’d still be alive!”

Minerva deftly balanced Harry one-handed and reached out to Mrs. Dursley, “I know you’re upset--”

“Keep away!” Ms. Dursley shrilled, backing up against the wall, clutching her son so tightly  he began to cry again. “All of you, keep-- keep away from my son!”

“Look here,” blustered Mr. Dursley, roused to the defense of his wife, “I won’t be having this! Who are you to come barging in here in the middle of the night, with all this nonsense about lords and Petunia’s sister?”

“As I just informed you,” said Minerva, icily, before Albus could say anything, “I was Lily Evans Potter’s professor.”

“I don’t care, I don’t care,” shrilled Mrs. Dursley. “You all get out, get out right now, we want nothing to do with you!”

Hagrid took a step forward, “Now wait jutsa mo, we’ve got your nephew--”

Mrs. Dursley shrieked in fear.

“Out!” exploded Mr. Dursley. “Out of my house!”

Albus put a restraining hand on Hagrid’s arm and said, calmly, politely, “As I said when you let us into your lovely home, we realize our visit is unexpected. We are sorry to have burst in on you in the middle of the night, but, madam--” turning to the nearly hysterical Petunia Dursley “--your sister has been murdered, and her orphaned son is in grave danger.”

“Then get him out of here!” she shrilled, clutching her caterwauling baby, and turning, much to Minerva’s disgust, the same way Minerva had earlier, so that any spell cast at her child would strike her first. “I won’t have him endangering my son--”

“I told all of you, out!” thundered Mr. Dursley, pointing at the door.

Minerva drew in a breath. Hagrid was staring. Albus alone remained calm, or at least maintained the appearance of it. “So,” he said, pleasantly, “you are denying houseroom to your own flesh and blood? To the child your sister died to save?”

Mrs. Dursley looked frightened at this, and opened and closed her mouth twice.

“Now see here!” blustered her husband. “You have no right, no right at all to intimidate my wife like this-”

Albus waved his wand. Mr. Dursley let fell abruptly silent. The only noises were of Harry's soft hiccups. Dudley’s wails were completely noiseless.

‘Victorians,’ thought Minerva, her lips pressed in a thin line.

Hagrid was gawping at the Dursleys. Albus looked furious.

“You sister,” said Albus, in cool, measured tones, “died not six hours ago to protect the defenseless child now crying in Professor McGonagall’s arms. You would throw him out on the streets, deny what is due to one of your blood, ignore the great sacrifice made by your sister?”

Mrs. Dursley was terrified, her husband and son both purple with rage, but she shook her head and edged towards the door, as if the presence of two wizards, a witch, and a baby was akin to having a convention of bubonic plague sufferers in her living room.

Hagrid was too astonished for speech. Minerva wasn’t. “Clearly,” she said, her tones as cold and sharp as a Highland winter, “magic was not the only thing you lack. Empathy. Basic human decency-- your nephew has been left orphaned and alone, with the followers of a mass murderer out looking for him, and you’d refuse him house room?”

“As long as he remains in your house,” said Albus, “and can be granted all the claims of a blood relation, he will be safe. The Death Eaters will never find him."

Mrs. Dursley managed to convey that she did not care. Mr. Dursley managed to convey, with a series of rude hand gestures, that his unexpected guests were extremely disobliging, and ought to have left quite half-an-hour ago.

“They have no better nature to be prevailed upon,” said Minerva, who had never thought to see such callously amoral behavior from anyone not a Death Eater. “Albus, let us go.”

She marched out first, Harry still hiccuping sadly against her shoulder, before she could immorally hex the Muggles into a different time zone. She was sure Albus or Hagrid  could be relied upon to make their own moral choices-- and remained persuaded of this even after Albus swept out, robes billowing about him like the waves of the sea, and Hagrid came out after, guiltily hiding a frilly pink umbrella.

Albus said, “Well. That could have gone better.”

“Really?” asked Minerva, dryly. “Perhaps we should have left young Mr. Potter here on the doorstep with a letter. I’m sure he wouldn’t have immediately been put in an orphanage.”

“An orphanage!” exclaimed Hagrid. “Lily and James’s son!”

“I had a classmate who grew up in an orphanage,” said Minerva, significantly.

This gave Albus pause. “Indeed, we must avoid that fate. But we must also avoid what might happen if Harry should grow up in our world, feted and spoiled. It is a great burden to bear, the knowledge one is responsible for defeating a Dark Wizard, and responsible, too, if said Dark Wizard should ever return. The Dursleys must be persuaded--”   

“I held my tongue,” said Minerva, frostily, “out of respect for you, but I cannot do so again, when the Muggles clearly do not want him, and will make his life a misery if you insist upon their taking him. You want this boy to grow up safe and normal? Give him to me.” She abruptly realized that this had been why she’d come to Privet Drive, this had been what kept her on a brick wall all day. Professor Flitwick had come running into her office with the news and all Minerva had thought was, ‘Lily and James Potter-- Gryffindors--my students--in my house,’ before immediately combing through old records to find Lily’s next of kin information. The Potters had been nearly wiped out by Death Eaters. As far as Minerva knew, James Potter had no remaining next of kin.

“You may rest assured I’ll let no foolishness or fame turn his head, and he’ll have a good, moral upbringing. He won’t be pampered, but he will be cared for, and taught about the world into which he was born. And, most importantly, he’ll have people protecting him should You-Know-- should Voldemort, should my old classmate Tom Riddle, ever come after him again. Aside from you, there’s not a witch or wizard alive who knows more about Transfiguration than I do.” There were peppry insults on the tip of her tongue, biting and bitter, gleaned from the bleakness of personal experience, about being a witch surrounded by Muggles, but she could not fling these into a conversation before strangers. It would have been difficult even before Albus.   

Albus favored her with an unreadable expression. Minerva was reasonably competent at Occlumency, but now she deliberately stopped shielding her mind and let a succession of unhappy memories drift forth-- her mother, lips pressed together so firmly they were colorless, locking her wand beneath her bed-- Malcolm sobbing that the village children wouldn’t play with him-- the sense of stifling suffocation each summer without magic or any of her own kind to talk to-- her own terrible choice between love and desire, and a career and a life where she was whole--

These flashed through her mind so rapidly she felt almost dizzy. Then she pushed forward memories of her own competence with children, watching out for her younger brothers, babysitting their children, changing nappies, hiking vacations in the Scottish highlands with her nieces, long talks with all her nieces and nephews once the Hogwarts letter had come--

Albus said, “Well, Minerva, it appears we have no choice--” he paused, listened intently and said, “I do believe that we are no longer alone.”

Minerva heard the ‘pop’ of Apparations and had almost unconsciously raised her arm to protect young Mr. Potter’s face-- and good thing she did too, for a searing pain tore across her forearm.

“They’ve tracked him, Albus,” she said, drawing her wand.

Albus and Hagrid stepped in front of her at once, Albus with a quick flick of his wand to produce an impressive shield charm, and Hagrid with a roar of, “TRYIN’ TO ATTACK A BABY NOW Y’MURDRIN’ COWARDS?”

Both were oddly reassuring. Minerva wished she could turn into a cat again, to see where the attackers had landed, but then came a horrible sing-song.

“Poor wittle baby, all alone-- shouldn’t he join his mummy and daddy?”

“I think that is Bellatrix Black,” said Minerva, displeased.

“Madame Lestrange, now,” said Albus, who always seemed to keep track of the love affairs of former students. “Bellatrix, your master is dead.”

A masked figure in dark robes stepped into the light of the motorbike. “He is not!”

Someone behind her said, “The Dark Lord wanted that child dead, Professor Dumbledore. Let us finish what our master started, and we will let you go.”

“I cannot oblige you,” said Albus, calmly.

The second figure persisted, “No matter where you take the child, we shall find him. Save us both the extra work and give him to us now.”

“Rabastan Lestrange,” said Minerva, tartly, “I expected much better than this from you! I never thought to see one of my students casually threatening infanticide, especially not one who was so frightened of his Sorting, he nearly cried when his name was called!”

This disconcerted Rabastan, who wavered just long enough for Hagrid to point a frilly umbrella in his direction, and set him on fire.

Two or three more pops and then an explosion of sound of light-- Minerva shielded Harry with her own body as much as with charms and countercurses.

Bellatrix lead the charge. “You cannot escape from us, ickle Potty-kins, we have ways of finding you. We can smell that mix of Mudblood and bloodtraitor wherever you go. _Crucio_!”

Minerva deflected this with a shield charm, and thought, ‘ _Epoximise_!’ Bellatrix stuck to the pavement and toppled forward before someone-- presumably her husband-- undid the curse. A spell came at her from the right; Minerva’s thoughts clicked along, speedily as a train down the tracks, much more quickly than the Lestranges running towards her.

They had found Harry and would find him wherever he went (Lestrange’s foot landed heavy on the pavement).

That meant a charm or a hex on a human child had led them to Harry. (Bellatrix Black-Lestrange raised her arm again.)

Bellatrix had been terrible at Transfiguration, quite failed her O.W.L., and her husband had not made it past his first year studying for the N.E.W.T. (Lestrange was raising his arm.)

Neither had taken Ancient Runes. (Bellatrix Black-Lestrange’s foot landed on the pavement. She opened her mouth.)

Minerva’s arm was dripping blood down her wrist, staining her palm and fingertips; she moved her hand over Harry’s forehead and right over his scar wrote out in her own blood a series of runes that really really she oughtn’t to use on such a wee bairn, but there was no choice.

She thought faster than Bellatrix could speak. As “ _Avada_ \--” came out of Bellatrix’s mouth, Minerva had vanished. A jet of green light whizzed overhead, exploding one of the windows on Number 4 Privet Drive.

“She’s Apparated!” exclaimed Bellatrix. “That horrible old cow!”

‘That,’ thought Minerva, tetchily, ‘is no way to speak of your professors.’

A tiny black kitten with a bandaged forehead wriggled beneath her paws. Minerva grabbed Harry by the scruff and he calmed instantly. ‘Where to go,’ thought Minerva, as she heard Hagrid shake free of two Death Eaters and fling himself at the Lestranges, ‘where can I go that’s safe? Where can I Apparate within a hundred miles?’ (This was half as far as she usually could Apparate as a cat; she didn’t want to risk splinching poor Harry.)

She thought instantly of Elphinstone Urquart. He had been her boss during her two year stint at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and had then been her friend and now-- well, one couldn’t really call someone a friend if they’d made a habit of proposing to you once a year, but one could neither one call someone anything but a loyal and devoted friend when he so cheerfully took her rejections, and seemed so content to let her dictate the terms of their odd relationship. ‘To my gentleman caller,’ thought Minerva, before Disapparating with a pop.  

The hallway outside of Elphinstone’s apartment was heavily warded. As soon as she arrived, she was frozen in place, Harry dangling by the scruff of his neck from her mouth. It was extremely undignified, thought Minerva, as Harry swung, pendulum like, and the door in front of her rattled with the sound of spells being dismantled and chains drawn back.

Elphinstone, clad in blue and gold striped pajama bottoms and a plush blue dressing gown, appeared in the doorway and said, pleasantly, “Ah. Minerva. I thought I recognized your markings through the peephole.” He pointed his wand at her. “Finite incantatum. Do come in.”

As soon as she could move her legs, Minerva sprinted inside. She dropped Harry onto the rug under the desk, and licked his ear to calm him when he started mewling. Elphinstone busied himself at the door, and then walked over to Minerva, saying, “Wards are up. You’re safe here. What on earth were you carrying, my dear?”

He had the old, gentlemanly habit of pulling on the thighs of his trousers before crouching down, so that the fabric wouldn’t crease. Minerva had never seen him do it from this level before, and was almost amused at the gesture. She did not come out from under the desk, but nudged Harry towards him with her nose. Harry unsteadily put a front paw forward.  

To his credit, Elphinstone said only, “I see you have a guest. A warm bowl of milk, I think,” and, returning to his armchair and the little table next to it, took the saucer out from under his teacup. He waved his wand over it almost absent-mindedly and set the saucer, now brimming with milk, before them. Minerva pulled the bandage slipping off of Harry’s head (difficult when one had only teeth and no opposable thumbs), and nosed him toward the saucer. Harry gave a few squeaky cries and tried to stick his paw in the milk.

Minerva shook her head and then, making sure he was watching, slowly and patiently demonstrated how to lap at it. Harry imitated her in the clumsy way of children, and mewled pitifully when he lowered his head to the milk and accidentally wetted his nose.

Feeling rather fond, Minerva demonstrated again, and made a reassuring ‘prrpt!’ when Harry managed to feed himself successfully. Harry drank, and then began to... walk, Minerva supposed, because there wasn’t another verb for the stiff-legged, ambulatory motion that then occurred, while purring to himself in a pleased way-- and no wonder, thought Minerva, staring down at him, tail curled around her paws. Kittens could do so much more than babies. It was almost enough to make one change one’s mind on statutory limits on  human transfiguration.

While she had been supervising, Elphinstone had been setting up more wards. He turned up the volume on the Wizarding Wireless before crouching back down in front of the desk. “I suppose we’re listening out for any report on Dumbledore?”

Minerva nodded.

“Ah. Well, you’re safe here if you...?”

Minerva flattened her ears against her head.

“... wish to stay a cat, that’s fine as well.” Elphinstone looked briefly puzzled, but went about building a fire and setting several pillows before it. Minerva picked Harry up by the scruff of his neck and pulled him onto the pillow. He was beginning to make distressing noises that would probably be along the lines of, ‘Ma!’ or ‘Da!’ if he had been human--Minerva pinned him down and, feeling rather awkward, licked his face clean.

This soothed him enough to curl up against her and sleep. Minerva watched the rise and fall of his tiny, black, fuzzy chest and looked up. Elphinstone was sitting in his chair, listening to some sort of celebratory suite by a chamber orchestra. “No news, still,” he said, eyes on the radio. “Minerva, I respect that your work in the Order may not leave you at... perfect liberty to answer these questions, so do not feel as if you must... but, ah... that kitten is not yours is it?”

Minerva shook her head, though she thought the answer was really much more complicated.

“Is he going to be alight?”

It was hard to shrug as a cat, but she managed it.

“Is he hurt? Are you?”

Minerva recalled the gash on her arm. She sat up (Harry squeaked a little) and held out her right paw. Elphinstone got up and healed her, quickly and efficiently. Minerva wondered how many times he’d had to perform similar spells in the field.

He was looking frowningly at Harry now, and said, “Minerva... I proof-read your article for _Transfiguration Today_....”

She narrowed her eyes to slits, as if to say, ‘And so?’

“And so,” Elphinstone said, turning his worried gaze onto her, “I think you performed blood magic to save that child. Is it extremely important that anyone trying to find him sees only ‘McGonagall-cat?’”

She thought it rather beneath her dignity to purr, but she managed to make a pleased noise at this quickness of thought.

With a sigh, Elphinstone said, “I’ve a guess, but I know as well as you not to say anything. Oh dear, here I was thinking of a quiet retirement....” He puttered off into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Can you drink gillywater, as a cat?”

Minerva made a noise like, ‘mrowr?’ to express that she didn’t know, but she would like to try. She lapped delicately at the saucer Elphinstone brought her, and curled around Harry, who was squeaking and twitching in his sleep. Some of the tension left her. She entered into the sort of pleasant half-doze that came easily to cats, waking only when she heard the name ‘Lestrange’ on the Wireless.

“--Lestrange attacked three Hogwarts professors in a Muggle neighborhood before Apparating to the home of renowned Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom, and capturing them both. Professor Albus Dumbledore rescued their child, Neville Longbottom--”

Harry began twitching in his sleep. Minerva shuddered, stretched out her paws and drew Harry close to her, tucking her nose against his throat. Elphinstone was watching her with concern as the report went on, informing the wizarding public that the Longbottoms and one of the Hogwarts professors were in St. Mungo’s, and three of the six Death Eaters who had attacked the professors and the Longbottoms were now in custody.

“I’ve still friends in the MLE,” said Elphinstone. “Shall I put in a Floo call?”

Minerva uncurled from Harry long enough to nod.

Elphinstone tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and stuck his head in the emerald flames. Five minutes later he pulled his head out again saying, “-- a great relief. Ta, Diana. Drink a glass of champagne for me!”

Minerva raised her head up as if to say, ‘Well?’

Elphinstone eased himself down onto the floor beside her, and rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face. “It’s a wretched business Minerva. At the very least, Dumbledore’s safe. It was the groundskeeper, Hagrid, who went to St. Mungo’s. Three Death Eaters are on the loose, still-- one of whom has been identified as Bellatrix Lestrange. Her file was escalated up to the Aurors almost immediately. The Lestrange brothers were successfully arrested, though, as was... you’re not going to believe this... Barty Crouch’s son.”

“Mrow!”

Elphinstone still had his hand on his chin. “As far as Diana knew, the six of them had some mad idea that there was some information the Longbottoms had about You-Know-Who, something to do with their having a son the same age as... I am assuming young Mr. Potter there.”

Minerva blinked at him.

“Dumbledore seems to have called on the Order then-- details were foggy, the Aurors swooped in almost at once-- what the ruddy hell!”

A silver phoenix burst through the door and said, “Elphinstone, do not be alarmed. Please tell Professor McGonagall we have found a substitute for her classes for the rest of the week.”

“Right,” said Elphinstone, as Albus Dumbledore’s patronus disappeared into silver mist. “Glad he’s got his priorities straight.”

Minerva slept fitfully the next few days, one ear always on the radio. She felt almost as if she had lost the capacity for shock when she heard Sirius Black was considered to be one of the six who had attacked her-- and had, in fact, been the one to betray the Potters to Lord Voldemort. Sirius Black, she thought, holding Harry close-- one of her students, someone who’d been in her own house!-- close as a brother to James Potter-- and cousin to Bellatrix too--

She almost didn’t hear how Peter Pettigrew had confronted him on the the street, a Gryffindor to the last, with more bravery than dueling skill, the Muggles obliterated-- and then, horribly, the human interest angle of the story: “Black was not only the best man at the wedding of James Potter and Lily Evans, but the godfather to their child, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived--”

“Shall I turn it off?” asked Elphinstone, running out of the kitchen, drying his hands on his apron. The Wireless nattered on about the horrific betrayal, about the horrible end young Mr. Potter might have come to, had it not been for the courageous action of Professor Albus Dumbledore--

Minerva grimly shook her head. Harry was playing some sort of chasing game with a bit of crumpled paper and didn't seem to understand the radio report.

Elphinstone hesitated before turning back into the kitchen. “Dinner in five, Minerva. If I grind up the steak for Harry, can he eat a bit, do you think? Our Mediwizard always had us eat red meat after a battle.”

Harry gnawed on his bit of meat with great gusto, but not many teeth. Still, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Minerva worried at her food until she heard, “We interrupt this broadcast to announce that Bellatrix Black Lestrange has been captured!” The news passed through her almost like the flu. She felt weak and exhausted, and wanted little more than to lay her head down and not move for a day or two. Minerva listened until she heard Moody had been responsible for Bellatrix’s capture, and then laid down to sleep, for the first time in three days.

She awoke to the sight of Albus’s Patronus saying, “Minerva, I don’t know what you did, but I am grateful. No one could find Harry by magical means, not even I. Given that Sirius Black is in Azkaban, I think your suggested arrangement of three nights previous is the best choice of action. I shall call upon you, young Mr. Potter, and Elphinstone at noon tomorrow, if that is convenient.”

Of course, his Patronus disappeared before Minerva could respond, or even turn herself back into a witch. She stretched out her front paws and then her back, arched her back and popped up into her proper shape.

Harry the kitten whined for her in his sleep.

She felt unexpectedly touched, but, for the moment, left him be. There was no benefit to waking the poor lad.

Elphinstone didn’t look up from where he was clearing dishes. “Dumbledore is one of the few people I know who can phrase an order so _politely_. But still, he had a point. The only way someone could have found Harry Potter here was through honest sleuthing and logical deduction-- which most wizards cannot do. I always thought it a shame Arithmancy-- particularly the logic module-- was never made mandatory. All right there Minerva?”

“I could use a gillywater.”

It was a relief to use her thumbs again, though she had to keep herself from lapping at the glass. She had never spent so long as a cat before, and for quite half-an-hour felt as if she were in the wrong body. But it was nothing that a great deal of gillywater couldn’t solve, and she and Elphinstone managed to finish off a bottle and a half between the two of them   

“Why did you come here, Minerva?” asked Elphinstone. The candle flames were struggling vainly upwards against their spreading pools of wax. He was staring at them rather than her. The candlelight always brought out the tawny gold of his complexion. Minerva recalled, briefly, being taken to Tahiti to met the maternal side of Elphinstone’s family, the strange sense of heat and relaxation. She had been so at ease among the Urquarts. “Not-- not that I’m complaining. You know--” his voice carefully, pointedly light “--you know you are the most important person in the world to me, you may rely on me for anything. But I thought you’d go to Amelia or Pomona.”

The train of thought that had lead her to Elphinstone’s door had been so speedy, Minerva now had trouble recalling it. She looked down at her glass of gillywater and said, “I could have, I suppose. Your flat was the first safe place I thought of within a hundred miles.”

“I’m glad that even though you left the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, you still have a high opinion of it.”

Minerva cleared her throat, not a little embarrassed at the maudlin turn in her thinking. “I still have a very high opinion of you, Elphinstone.”

There fell a profound silence, uncomfortable only from the weight of things obscurely felt and never really discussed.

“This is not the time for me to ask, but...”

“Ach,” said Minerva, tossing back the last of her gillywater. She felt curiously uninhibited, from nerves, and adrenaline, and gillywater, and sentimental from having spent three days curled about a kitten that had cried out for want of her when she’d Transfigured back into a human. “I always said it was my work in the Order. I didn’t want You-Know-Who to come after you, but it’s....”

She felt an odd burning in her eyes.

Tears, she thought vaguely. When had she last cried? “Elphinstone, I’m... I don’t know how to say it.”

“Is it your farmer, still?”

“Yes and no,” said Minerva. “I’m... I don’t even know what to call it, but whether by upbringing or observation, or plain fault of nature, I’ve never been interested in-- in... sex.” It felt at once horrifying and liberating, like the time she had once drunkenly burned her brassiere during a Muggle feminist demonstration back in the sixties. “I only ever felt the desire for it once in my life, for Dougal, that’s why I agreed to marry him. I was so relieved-- I thought I would never want someone in that way. But then I thought, is it enough to make me give up the life I could have as a witch? Is it enough to deny who I am? And the answer was ‘no.’ Elphinstone, I’m fond of you, I trust you more than anyone, even Albus, but--” She looked up. To her surprise, Elphinstone was smiling widely. “What?”

“Oh, Minerva, have we been speaking at cross-purposes all this time?” he asked, looking as if he was about to laugh. “My dear, I’ve got the same fault of nature, as you call it. I thought you might catch on, after all my years of asking you to marry me, and being perfectly content with our very celibate dinner dates.”

Minerva did not often feel stupid. It was an extremely unpleasant experience.

He continued, “I thought myself broken for the longest time. My last few years at Hogwarts were a misery, everyone passing around woodcuts I found alternately boring and perplexing, all my friends suddenly obsessed with something I found about as intriguing as flobberworms--” with a little shudder of distaste “--but then I had a career, and found it was easier to focus without a family. Then, you came along, my dear, and you let fall enough that I thought, ‘I am not alone. Here is someone exactly like me!’”

Minerva felt as if she’d been Stupified.

Elphinstone coughed, “Of course, not _exactly_ like me-- you’ve wanted to make love to someone, and I never have-- I’ve always recoiled from the whole business. Minerva, I keep asking you to marry me, not because I want to make love to you, but because I want to share a life with you.”

Her face was wet. When had she started to cry? Minerva pulled out a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her cheeks. For years she’d been afraid to reveal this odd flaw in her character-- but now, not only to have it accepted, but accepted with relief, and have the knowledge that someone else was broken in the same way, that there was still a chance at everything she thought her peculiarities meant she could never have--

Elphinstone slid out of his chair and onto one knee. They were neither of them young any longer, but despite his white hair, Elphinstone was still spry enough. “Minerva,” he said, smiling full force at her, with all the charm he’d used to save for pleasantly questioning witnesses, “I love you in the only way I know how, and I think you have confessed to me that our understandings of what love is, and what we want from a partner are the same.”

She cleared her throat and put away her handkerchief. “I’m still deputy Headmistress, and Head of Gryffindor House, and professor of Transfiguration--”

“Of course, love,” said he, a little puzzled, “why would that change?”

As old-fashioned as wizards tended to be in terms of dress, there was no denying they could be progressive where magical ability was concerned. She cleared her throat and felt inclined to cry again.

“Oh,” exclaimed Elphinstone, smacking his forehead with his open palm. “My flat. Well, I’ll let it to tenants, or sell it, and we’ll find a place in Hogsmeade-- walking distance from the castle. I’m retired, I have no commute to think of. I’ll occupy myself with a plant nursery.”

“Or a real one?” asked Minerva, looking over at where Harry lay, sprawled out in the liquid way of cats, with his back feet pointing in one direction, and his front feet in another. “Harry’s parents are dead, his godfather a madman and a murderer, his aunt and uncle Muggles who refused to give him houseroom, and his parents--” her voice cracked, but she pressed on “--Lily and James-- they were my students, Elphinstone. They were in my House.”

She was surprised to see Elphinstone’s eyes were watering. He gave a somewhat strangled laugh. “It’s very strange,” he said, at her questioning look, “to be given the family I always wanted, all in one day. It seems so wrong to be happy when poor Harry has the worst few days any child can have endured-- or to feel... but when you said they were your students-- you mean that Dumbledore has given you custody of Harry? I’ve always wanted children, but I thought-- because of how I-- because of _what_ I-- that I never could-- that I never _would_ have a family--”

Minerva impulsively took his head. “And I as well!”

He put his free hand over hers. A happy warmth seemed to course through her.

“I never thought I could be this happy,” said Elphinstone, looking at their joined hands. Minerva thought that if he looked up at her, he might cry. “To be so perfectly understood, to have everything I thought I could never have-- a family, a home. But I am counting my dragons before they’ve hatched. Minerva, will you marry me?”

Minerva squeezed his hand. “Yes.”

 

 


	2. Chapter Two

Minerva had stopped considering herself a member of the Church of Scotland since her father's death. Elphinstone was Wizarding Church of England, but rather lax at that. He made the customary arrangement for the Archbishop, a small, tufty-haired wizard, to recite the proper ceremony around teatime the next day, and scrambled to assemble a small wedding party and a reception.

“My sister Meg and her children can come to both,” said Elphinstone, dangling a ribbon before Harry with his left hand, and opening the post with his right. “That is, my nieces Nanahini and Poenui, and Poenui’s girlfriend, Anjali. Very sweet of Nanahini to Floo all the way from Tahiti to come! I was very touched. Meg's third daughter, Anuata, God rest her soul, was killed in the line of duty last year. My brother Wishart said its the last throes of the tourist season in Tahiti, and his son Seton is in New Zealand-- I don’t think we can count on them, but I might be able to guilt them into coming if I pull strings at the Ministry and have an international port key set up, so they don't have to fuss with all the restrictions of transcontinental Flooing. I should dearly love Wishart to be best man.”

“Malcolm and Robert and all their families will be sure to come,” said Minerva, emerging from the bathroom. Three days as a cat had left her with a very strong desire to shower as a human. “And rampaging hippogriffs could not keep my mother from coming and arguing about which tartan I’ll wear. For the record, the McGonagall. I’m keeping my name.”

“Of course, you’ve published under it,” said Elphinstone, matter-of-factly. “I haven’t gotten you a wedding present yet-- shall I see if Madame Malkin can whip up a new set of dress robes for you in the McGonagall tartan?”

“Aye, that’d be very kind,” said Minerva, touched. She sat in the armchair facing Elphinestone’s, still drying her hair. “And a black- well, no, I suppose it ought to be white underrobe with a high collar and long sleeves, if you don’t mind. Tartan itches something dreadful. Will you go Scots or Tahitian?”

“Scots, to match better,” said Elphinstone, the corners of his eyes creasing pleasantly as he smiled at her. “I can always tell when you're too polite to tell me what you really want. You put your true preference first when posing a question. But it is no great sacrifice, my dear. I should dearly love to embarrass my sister by wearing a kilt. I suppose you’ll want Pomona and Amelia as bridesmaids?”

“Ach, we’re beyond that nonsense.  I'll want them there, but as friends. Filius Flitwick and Rosetta Stone, from Hogwarts, and Daphne Prewett and Semele Greengrass from Transfiguration Today- with the addition of Albus, that concludes my half of the guest list. Well, Professor Heather Bluejay of the Salem Witches’ Institute ought to get an invitation, but I daresay she’ll be too busy to come. You, I expect, will invite the entire department of Magical Law Enforcement."

He laughed. Minerva had always preferred a very small circle of intimate friends with similar interests. Elphinstone was of a nature to be friends with anybody, and had been widely regarded as the most popular Head of the MLE in centuries. "I would issue a general invitation if it didn't mean Barty Crouch would feel compelled to attend. I can limit myself to twenty. It would be pleasant if we could all sit at one table for dinner."

"Where? There’s a nice traditional, Scottish pub--”

"My dear," said Elphinstone, with a shudder of distaste, "I will be married in a kilt for you, but I will not make our families and closest friends eat haggis on our behalf. I thought we might be married at that nice French restaurant in Glasgow- the one with the enchanted courtyard. And I am really afraid I must insist on there being a large wedding cake- to appease Dumbledore if nothing else."

"Is it that cake they do with that gingerbread mousse between the layers?" asked Minerva, trying and failing not to look excited by the idea.

Elphinstone laughed again. "Yes, speculoos mousse. I shall make a gourmande of you yet! Any other requests?"

"No, I shall leave all that to you," she replied. “Have you a Muggle telephone?”

“Alas, no. What do you need it for?”

“I thought I might get one of the personal shoppers at Harrods to get us a baby bag for Harry. He’ll need more than a tray of sand once he stops being a kitten.”

“My dear, it’d be faster if you Floo’d Floor 3.14-- no confusing the Muggle staff that way.”

Harrods was rather upmarket for Minerva; she’d suggested it merely because a Muggle cousin of hers worked as a personal shopper there and was always talking at extended family gatherings about how quickly she could fill an order. “I hadn’t realized there was a department for witches and wizards.”

“It wouldn’t be Harrod’s, if they didn’t have a department for literally everything. I’ll ask them to send us a bag of whatever they think we’ll need, shall I?”

Elphinstone did so as Minerva went to make sure the enchanted washing board had finished with her robes. She was clean and dressed, and sorting through a large baby bag that could fold out into a high chair, a changing table, and a stroller as the occasion demanded, when Dumbledore knocked on the door.

Elphinstone set a pot of tea on the table, next to a tray of fresh-made biscuits and said, distractedly, “My dear, if you’d grab Harry to keep him from wandering out?”

Minerva shifted back into a cat, to get Harry to mind her better. He was rather displeased he couldn’t jump in the baby bag himself to investigate, but when she grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, he automatically curled up, squeaks subsiding.

“Who is it?” called Ephinstone.

“Albus Dumbledore. But, to be safe: what’s my favorite kind of biscuit?”

“Trick question, that, as you can’t choose,” said Elphinstone, peering through the peephole. “What house was I in at Hogwarts?”

“Hufflepuff.”

Elphinstone dismantled the wards and unlocked the door.

Albus came floating in the door, clad in his usual imperturbability as well as a set of burgundy robes. “Ah, Minerva,” he said, with a wave of his wand, to close the door after him. “An extremely ingenious solution. Anyone looking for Harry would, as I am getting, just get the magical trace of one Minerva McGonagall turning into a cat. It is too strong to be anything but blood magic, but I think you must have improvised, or crossed different branches of magic....” He thought quickly. “Runes?”

Minerva inclined her head and set down Harry.

Albus smiled. “I am amazed I didn’t think of it myself.”

Minerva favored him with an unimpressed look.

“You might want a picture of this, Elphinstone. I daresay we won’t see such clever magic in several years.”

Minerva allowed the picture since, truth be told, she was rather pleased with herself. She popped back into her human form and shook her robes out. “Shall I change Harry back, sir?”

“Oh not yet, he seems to be having a good time with my boot laces,” said Albus, indulgently.

‘Victorians,’ thought Minerva, again. She was glad she’d been born after the time it was considered appropriate to enchant your children. Still, she sat down at the table and allowed Elphinstone to set a cup of tea before her, and a saucer of milk on the floor for Harry.

Albus, meanwhile, dunked innumerable biscuits into his tea. “Minerva, I will admit I was wrong. You are more than equipped to handle the particular challenges of raising young Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, Albus.”

“You do have a full academic year of maternity leave in your contract,” said Albus. “I suggest you take it. Semele Greengrass is not... extremely pleased to be teaching the lower years, but she would stay on to teach OWL levels and above for the rest of the year if asked.”

“I’ll ask around for a second teacher then,” said Minerva, “if the budget permits?”

This was something of a sore point for Minerva. Enrollments at Hogwarts had not yet reached their pre-Grindelwald levels. The Board of Governors always claimed that this had so dreadfully impacted the budget there simply wasn’t money for more than one professor per subject, or any for a music, drama, arts, language, or writing teacher, as there had been when Minerva was a student.

“They’ll be in a celebratory mood,” replied Albus. “I think we can manage it.”

“Good. I was thinking it might be best if Elphinstone and I took Harry out of the country for a little while.”

Albus looked mildly surprised.

"To ease your Victorian sensibilities, Albus, please know that Elphinstone and I are to be married tomorrow at three. We would be delighted if you could attend. Elphinstone is planning the reception, so it is probably worth attending." Minerva still recalled the frankly awful party she'd organized for Professor Slughorn's retirement. No one had asked her to plan a party's since then, especially since all the other professors ended up planning an entirely new party day of, when they'd seen Minerva's lone bowl of punch and tray of ginger newt biscuits.

“I would be delighted,” said Albus, graciously. “My very sincerest congratulations to you both. It pleases me beyond powers of expression that love has so triumphed.”

An unusual variety of it, thought Minerva dryly, but ah well, everyone was happy and got what they wanted, even Albus Dumbledore.

“I thought we might call him ‘Kit’ in public,” said Elphinstone. After a few too many gillywaters, Minerva and Elphinstone had gotten rather silly, called Harry enough slurred variations of ‘Kitten’ to end up with ‘Kit,’ and drunkenly decided to stick with the nickname. “No one needs to know we’ve adopted Harry Potter. It might be best for everyone if people assumed his name was ‘Christopher Urqhart’ or ‘Christopher McGonagall’ for the time being. He will know his parents were Lily and James Potter, but the rest of the world doesn’t need to know.”

“Once it’s safe, we’ll raise him in Hogsmeade,” added Minerva. “I’ve enough Muggle relatives that he won’t be completely unable to deal with their world. He’ll grow up respecting everyone.”

“I have no doubt of it,” said Albus. “I suppose you will need to fill out the paperwork today for your marriage and the adoption? Yes, I thought as much. I agree that it would be wise to leave the country for a short time, just after your marriage. An extended honeymoon if you will.”

“Half my family’s in Tahiti,” volunteered Elphinstone.

“Excellent.” Then, with a touch of humor. “I’m told there are no snakes there.”

Elphinstone was not in the Order, and had no notion Voldemort was a Parselmouth. He said, a little baffled, “No, there are not? We’d watch Harry the whole time, anyways, he’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Indeed,” said Albus politely. “I need not remind you both that you are taking on--”

“We know what we’re taking on,” Minerva interrupted, leveling an unimpressed stare over her glasses at him. “Do you know if anyone pulled Harry’s baby records from Godric’s Hollow? I haven’t any notion of his immunizations.”

This hadn’t occurred to Albus. Minerva clucked her tongue. “Never mind, I’ll take him to the Paediatric Healer in Hogsmeade when we return. I’m sure I can find one in Tahiti, until then.”

“Minerva, Elphinstone, you seem to have matters well in hand,” said Albus. “Let me know if I can be of any assistance. I shall see you tomorrow at three-- where?”

Elphinstone gave him the directions, and, after taking another handful of Elphinstone’s handmade biscuits for the road, he Disapparated back to God knew where. Minerva clucked her tongue again. “Didn’t even want to see Harry as a boy!”

She waved her wand at Harry, who popped back into his human form, entirely naked.

“Hm,” said Minerva. “Usually my clothes come with me. There’s some kinks to be worked out in this spell, I see.”

Harry was not very pleased to be a human child again, but he grew more resigned to the fact when Elphinstone and Minerva fed him a bottle of formula and a jar full of mashed peas (Elphinstone made a quip about a-peas-ment), and grew positively elated when they gave him a bath in the kitchen sink. The Harrods bag had a selection of fun, child-safe bubble baths, and a rubber grindelow Harry could smack against the water and gnaw on in perfect safety. Minerva was pleased to find that she and Elphinstone worked as well together as parents as she had always suspected they would. She was brisker, more inclined to think that a strict schedule would be the best thing for a traumatized infant. Elphinstone was more doting, more inclined to turn everything into a game for Harry’s amusement, and very content, as ever, to let Minerva set the pace of their joint marathon.   

Harry was in quite a good mood when they Apparated over to the Department of Family Processing and Probate in the Ministry of Magic. Minerva was inclined to be a little nervous at first, but no one expected her to be carrying Harry Potter, or even knew what he looked like. All the _Daily Prophet_ had reported was that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived had a lightning bolt shaped scar-- one that couldn’t be seen while he had his head against Minerva’s shoulder. Most of the crowd about them were waiting to hear wills read, or queuing up to find times for funerals. Minerva and Elphinstone made their way down the hall to the deserted Adoption Center with a faint feeling of relief.

A balding wizard at a high counter looked down as they came in and said, with a sigh, “Parents killed by Death Eaters, I imagine.”

“Yes, and we’d like to adopt him,” Minerva said firmly.

The wizard perked up at this news. “Really? That makes things very easy for me. I’m Owain Jones, Head of this subdepartment. If you wouldn’t mind letting my assistant take the child to the playroom, we can discuss all this uninterrupted.”

Minerva did mind, until she placed his assistant (a young Chinese girl with a nose ring and bubblegum pink hair) as a Gryffindor, class of ‘79. Harry was anxious at first, and even transformed into a kitten for several seconds, until Minerva and Elphinstone strategically placed themselves where Harry could see them through the glass door separating the play area from the rest of the office. Harry then turned droolingly to all the toys Miss Yee was levitating and animating for him.

Elphinstone was at his most charming and agreeable, building up Minerva's accomplishments, his own long career in the ministry and his now empty retirement. Minerva kept quiet and filled out paperwork, trying to recall her mother’s maternal grandparents, and feeling awkward about the size of her Gringotts account, and lack of property. She was as thrifty as stereotypes would suggest, but she was well aware she was trying to adopt a Potter, who had, for the last few generations, been so rich that they probably found silver spoons too common and had their children sucking on gold ones.

Fortunately, Elphinstone had better answers to the questions, and Mr. Jones was in a sympathetic mood. There had been many war orphans and it was a relief to have such a quick placement as this. Minerva felt misty-eyed when he called up Harry’s family tree, to eliminate any kinship claims; the death dates of ‘31 October, 1981’ hovered next to James and Lily’s names. The only thing more painful to Minerva was the Ministry pictures of them: Lily, green eyes wide, red curls flowing over her shoulders, looking rather exasperated with the camera, James ruffling his thick, almost wiry black hair in his usual, habitual gesture, brown skin outlined in a faint glow against the pale background of the photo.

“Poor fellow’s the last of the Potters,” said Mr. Jones, glancing over his shoulder at where Miss Yee was playing peekaboo with Harry. “Looks it too, takes very much after his father. So no claim on that side... I see Mr. James Potter’s mother was Hannah Goldstein, but that family was targeted by Grindlewald-- there’s only one English branch of the family still here, too distant for them to have any great claim on the boy... Though the Wizamagot might fight with you a little on whether you need to raise Mr. Potter Wizarding Church of England or within the Jewish faith... they're very sympathetic to the Goldsteins, they've suffered all a family can suffer... he’ll have to keep his last name...the only reason they aren’t part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight is because a Potter girl turned down Cantakerus Nott’s proposal of marriage, and he was in a vindictive mood when he wrote his directory of pureblood families. But we can’t allow the line to die out entirely--” the family tree zoomed upwards. “--no, not when the Potters are descended from the Peverells.”

“We’ve no qualms about letting Harry keep his name,” said Minerva.

“Good, good... and you’ll raise him in Hogsmeade with a tutor?”

“In Hogsmeade, certainly, with a tutor, if need be,” agreed Elphinstone.

Mr. Jones pulled absently on his stringy beard. “You’ll probably have to, to satisfy the pure-bloods on the Wizenmagot-- they’re all convinced a child ought to be tutored at home until Hogwarts. No Muggle primary schools, or that sort of thing. Unless the Minister for Magic takes in an interest, they’ll certainly step in on an adoption of this importance. Hm. Well, let’s finish up the application at least. Mr. Urqhart, if you’ll step this way for your photo?”

He was frowning in thought. “Hm? Yes. Would you let me send a memo before I do?” Then, in a murmur to Minerva, “I know you hate it when I pull rank, but I hate to think of Harry-- Kit, that is, being separated from us after all he’s been through already.”

His memo was extremely effective. Just as Minerva was reading through her forms a final time, Mr. Jones yelped, “Minister Fudge!”

“Minister,” said Elphinstone, pleasantly, holding out a hand to him, “I am delighted to call you that, Cornelius! My sincerest congratulations!”

Fudge looked pleased. “Thank you, Elphinstone. I must admit, I was very... intrigued by your memo. You and your....”

“Wife to be,” supplied Elphinstone, still pleasant. “You know Minerva McGonagall, surely?”

“Indeed I do! Taught me everything I know about Transfiguration.”

Minerva said all she thought proper, and added, “Forgive my distraction, Minister-- I’ve been guarding young Harry Potter with my life these past few days.”

“And the wizarding world heartily thanks you for it!” exclaimed Fudge, grabbing her hand and pumping it, looking rather as if he wished there had been a camera present. “How was it accomplished?”

“Very complex magic,” replied Minerva.

Fudge looked inclined to take her at her word. “And now you want to go on protecting him-- very, very noble of you, Professor McGonagall.”

“We are sorry to trouble you on what must be a busy day,” said Elphinstone, smoothly, “but that is indeed what we wish to do. But the adoption process....”

“Ah, yes.” Fudge caught sight of where Harry sat gnawing on the head of a black stuffed dog in the children’s waiting room. “Ouch, look at that scar. I suppose it’s permanent?”

“It appears so,” said Minerva.

“Did he really defeat--” voice lowered, “You-Know-Who?”

“Aye, he did,” said Minerva. “His mother and father gave their lives for him. Powerful blood magic. As far as I’ve been able to determine, You-Know-Who’s Killing Curse rebounded off Harry-- hence the scar-- and destroyed You-Know-Who. No curse could go against blood magic like that and win.”

“And his godfather in Azkaban and Death Eaters after him, still,” muttered Fudge, eyes fixed on Harry. “Risky proposition for anyone seeking custody....”

"Consider this," said Elphinstone, as Fudge hesitated, "who would you like to have custody of the Boy Who Lived, the last of the Potters, nearly one of the Twenty-Eight?  A murderer in Azkaban? A bunch of Muggles who slammed their door on him as soon as Death Eaters approached? Or the ex-Head of Magical Law Enforcement and his wife, one of the greatest minds in Transfiguration the world has ever seen?"

Fudge was about to yield. Minerva wished to say something particularly convincing, but she had no skill for flattery and didn't hold with all the nonsense of polite speech Elphinstone could arrange as artfully as one of his pastries. She preferred to speak plainly or not at all.

Elphinstone lowered his voice and said, “I think, perhaps, I can explain in layman’s terms how Minerva saved Harry from six Death Eaters?”

Not particularly wishing to tell the new Minister of Magic she had done blood magic on an infant, Minerva excused herself to have her photo taken for the application.

When she came back, Fudge nearly dropped his lime green bowler hat. "Professor McGonagall-- I-- you are quite the heroine!" Then, in a talking point he was sure to repeat to the newspapers: "And who better to raise the savior of the wizard one world than someone who taught me all I know of Transfiguration?"

"Thank you, Minister," said Minerva. "If it will further reassure your mind, Elphinstone and I will be married tomorrow at three."

"That's as good as married," said Fudge, taking the file from Owain Jones and scribbling something on it. "And I imagine you'll remain at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall?"

"The only way I'll leave it is in a coffin," replied Minerva, in a fit of black humor.

"So I imagine you'll be raising the boy in Hogsmeade-- the only fully wizarding town in the Isles? Ah, good! Let's expedite this whole process, hmm? I see young Mr. Potter must keep his last name- oh dear, to think the Potter family is down to young Mr. Potter!"

"That's fine," said Minerva. "I'm keeping my own name as well."

Fudge looked at her a little oddly at that, but clearly decided not to pursue the subject. "As Minister of Magic, my first act is to grant guardianship of Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, to Professor Minerva McGonagall, professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Mr. Elphinstone Urqhart, former head of Magical Law Enforcement."

Minerva said all she thought was proper, and left Elphinstone to convince Fudge not to publicize this feat to every wizarding newspaper in the world. Harry was now shrieking some very strange approximation of the words ‘dog’ (“Pafoo!” or "Paaaaatz!" in fairly equal measure) in response to the stuffed toy Miss Yee was floating about the room. Minerva went out into the hall to use the facilities-- it had been rather a long application process-- and saw, outside, Remus Lupin pacing the hallway.

He had the air of a wolf she'd seen at the London zoo, once, half wild from being separated from its pack-- out of place, terrified, one meal away from snapping at anyone who got too close. His robes were shabby, his light brown hair wild, his expression the sort of desperation all the more pitiable for being half-concealed.  

And it was no wonder, thought Minerva. Everyone the poor boy had ever cared about was either dead or as good as. At twenty-two he had suddenly found himself completely alone in the world. A vague idea took shape in her head. She moved forward. "Mr. Lupin, a word?"

Lupin twitched towards her, a hand flying towards his wand. "Oh, Professor McGonagall."

"Just me, Mr. Lupin."

He looked at her with a sort of crazed desperation. "They will not-- professor, they will not tell me-- I know they will not give him to me, not with my history-- but I am getting ahead of myself. I do not... Is Harry alive? The _Daily Prophet_ is calling him the Boy Who Lived, but I don’t trust... is he alive? Do you know?"

She put a calming hand on his shoulder. "Indeed he is, Mr. Lupin, and under my guardianship."

Lupin sank to the floor, face hidden in his hands, with a horrible cry of, "Thank God!"

She had only seen Lupin cry once, when he'd been told Sirius Black had betrayed his worst secret as a prank. (Really, thought Minerva, how had they not realized Sirius Black would betray a friend again?) And then it had been restrained as if he'd been ashamed.

Minerva couched down and awkwardly patted him on the shoulder. Other people were passing by now, making sympathetic noises, or looking at them with pity, but there had been too many people crying in the corridors of the Ministry of Magic of late for Mr. Lupin to be out of the ordinary. Minerva eventually got him off the floor and into a chair, and gave  him her handkerchief. She had the uncomfortable realization that one, Harry Potter was the only thing left of Remus Lupin's Hogwarts family, and two, the Ministry would never give him custody of Harry, even if Minerva and Elphinstone hadn't directly applied to Minister Fudge to expedite the adoption process. A half-blood werewolf whose shabby robes seemed to speak of a life of unsteady shift work? Fudge would sooner hire a Dementor as a personal assistant.

The idea was gaining shade and color. Minerva played with it until Lupin’s shuddering breaths were more steady. “There now,” she said. “There now, Mr. Lupin, Harry’s fine. Harry’s more than fine. He’s safe. I shed my own blood protecting him. As did his mother and father. Three people who love him have layered upon him the strongest magic in the world. And,” a little tartly, “I should like to see You-Know-I mean, Lord Voldemort try and take him from me when I held off six of his Death Eaters!”

“You would kill him with a glare,” said Lupin, with a passing attempt at humor. He wiped his eyes on the handkerchief. “I am-- I am so relieved, Professor McGonagall. If anything happened to James’s son....”

“Nothing is going to,” said Minerva firmly. “All that’s in Harry’s future now is naptime, and a nutritious afternoon snack. A banana probably, he hasn’t had any fruit today. Now, how are you holding up?”

He looked inclined to lie to her, but equivocated with, “Better, now that I know you have charge of Harry.”

“Good, for I have a proposition for you.”

Lupin looked at her, red-eyed and puzzled.  

“Semele Greengrass is taking over my classes for now, but it's a waste of her skills and a trial of her patience to teach anyone below OWL levels. If you follow my lesson plans, perhaps--”

Lupin looked at her uncomprehendingly.

“I know you preferred Defense Against the Dark Arts, but you did get your NEWT in Transfiguration, and you did excellent work as my research assistant the summer after you left Hogwarts. And I've seen you as a tutor-- you have the patience for even the first years. I will be on maternity leave for the year. Perhaps you would like to take on half my teaching load?” She patted him on the shoulder, a little awkwardly. “In Russian it's called a work-cure. I have always found it most efficacious.”

Lupin grabbed onto this like a drowning man to a rope. Almost desperately, he said, "I can return to Hogwarts?"

"If the memories won't--"

"It might be better there than anywhere else," said Lupin, with a noise that he meant to be a laugh, for all that it sounded more like a wolf's whine. "Dumbledore will not-- and the Board of Governors? They won’t mind?"

"If they do, I shall hand in my notice at once," said Minerva, tartly. "Having accepted you as a student, they cannot now say you cannot be a teacher.  They might make a fuss about your needing the proper certification, but the Transfiguration department will pay for you to take the course and the exam during the winter holidays. As long as you can show you can undo any accidental magic by a terrified eleven-year-old, they'll be happy. Standards here are so much  slacker than on the continent- Beauxbatons requires two years of teacher training. With us, it’s only a week-long course, and that finished in your first year of teaching! But, no matter, that's a soapbox for a different day. Only Albus, Poppy, Filius, Snape, and I know about your medical history, and the Shrieking Shack still stands.”

He looked extremely confused. “But Harry--”

“Harry will live in Hogsmeade, with my husband and myself,” said Minerva, firmly. “You’re to come to dinner every Sunday to tell me how classes are going, and to visit with Harry. He’ll need someone who knew his birth parents.”

Lupin looked ready to dissolve into tears again. “Why...?”

Minerva patted him on the shoulder again. “You’ll understand when you have children, Mr. Lupin.”

He snorted. “Begging your pardon, Professor, but there’s more than one reason why that is unlikely to ever happen.”

She chose not to comment on that, and said instead, “Come now, Elphinstone will be wondering if I got lost, and you’ll want to see Harry.”

Confused: “You would let me?”

Minerva leveled an unimpressed stare at him over the top of her glasses. “I would, Mr. Lupin, and I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I don’t know what’s best for the poor bairn. When, in your experience, have I ever been wrong when it comes to the welfare of a child?”

“Never,” said Lupin, with a vague approximation of a smile. “You were tough, but fair.”

“Still am,” said Minerva, pleased with this description of herself. “This way.” As she led him to the adoption office, she began to wonder what would have happened if Albus had prevailed and Harry had gone to the Muggles. Would Lupin have collapsed into tears without anyone to reassure him that his friend’s son was still alive? How long would the poor man have gone without knowing whether or not the _Daily Prophet_ had lied?

It nearly broke Minerva’s heart to see Harry light up at the sight of Lupin in the doorway. “Moooooo!” he exclaimed.

This was not at all close to ‘Remus’ or ‘Lupin’ but it appeared Harry had a little trouble matching sounds. Minerva wondered if flashcards might be of any help.

Lupin knelt down at once and said hoarsely, “Hey there Prongslette, how are you?”

“Moooo,” said Harry, slobbering on Lupin’s outstretched hands.

“You recall Mr. Lupin, Miss Yee?” asked Minerva. “One of James Potter’s friends.”

“Oh I recall James Potter and his friends alright,” said Miss Yee, with a sad smile. “Real lively bunch. Called themselves the Marauders or something, didn’t they, when they were doing their pranks? We all knew it was them. It was an open secret in Gryffindor Tower. It’s... it’s weird to think of them all now.”

Minerva agreed. It was hard to see Remus Lupin, prefect, devoted student of Defense Against the Dark Arts, in the red-eyed, stoop-shouldered man muttering soothing nonsense to the baby drooling on him. Poor fellow, all that was left of the Marauders....

“All done,” said Elphinstone, waving a sheaf of papers. Minerva had been standing in the doorway and turned to smile at him.

“We are now Kit’s official guardians, and, in the interests of various privacy laws, and Kit’s safety from Death Eaters, we will not be finding our happy news in the _Daily Prophet_.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Minerva, before filling him in, sotto voce, on the man sitting on the floor rocking Harry. Miss Yee went to go make copies of all the forms. Lupin looked up at her departure and nearly jumped to his feet.

“Have you met my husband to be, Elphinstone Urqhart?” asked Minerva.

“No, professor. A pleasure, sir. I’m Remus Lupin.”

"A pleasure," said Elphinstone. “You're very good with the lad. We’re calling him ‘Kit’ for now.”

Lupin did not say anything for a full minute, but then got out, "I have always had a knack, I think, for handling young children. Lily used to say so. I was her preferred babysitter, after Mary McDonald ended up in St. Mungo's."

"Did you ever work with children?"

"I was-- I was educated at home, before Hogwarts. I did some shift work in _Flourish and Blotts_ 's children's section before James and Lily--" He swallowed. "I beg your pardon, Professor McGonagall, Mr. Urqhart."

"You have nothing to ask us pardon for," said Elphinstone, firmly. "I didn't realize until we were in the adoption office how much Kit here looks like his birth father."

"Except his eyes," said Lupin, in a low, quiet voice. "He has Lily's eyes, but he is so like James...." At that he had to pass a hand over his own eyes.

Elphinstone and Minerva looked at each other to see if noticing this would make Lupin feel better or worse. Kindness, Minerva thought, would only make Lupin catatonic with grief, so she busied herself with the paperwork Miss Yee silently handed to her. Minerva was surprised to see that the Potter executors had interpreted the provisions for Harry’s schooling to include a generous salary for a tutor, from about age two to eleven.  

"Perhaps," said Minerva, giving Elphinstone a look, "Mr. Lupin, you might consider an addendum to our agreement?”

He looked somewhat recovered as he said, “Yes, professor?”

“After the year is up, you might agree to be young Kit's tutor? The executors of the Potter estate have expressed a firm preference for a tutor, going so far as to include a salary for one in our adoption papers.”

Lupin looked as if he might cry again. Hoarsely, he said, “I haven’t much experience tutoring outside of Hogwarts-- you might wish to hire someone more qualified. But, should I prove satisfactory this year, professor, perhaps you might take me on?”

“Certainly,” said Minerva.

Lupin nodded, and, reluctantly, handed Harry over to Minerva.

She wished there was more she could do for Lupin. He had the look of many desperately sad people, of having been hollowed out with an ice-cream scoop.

“I nearly forgot,” said Elphinstone. “We’re getting married tomorrow at three. Might you join us for the reception? Let me write down the address for you.”

Lupin neither accepted nor rejected the invitation, but thanked them politely, and waved to Harry as Minerva and Elphinstone Apparated back to Elphinstone’s flat.  

"Poor fellow," said Elphinstone, Harry gurgling in what seemed to be a contented way against his shoulder. "I think he'd tutor Kit here out of pure love for his birth parents. And it looks like he’d work anywhere for room and board. The second war’s really cut down on available jobs, hasn’t it?”

Minerva did not know quite how to reply to this, but fortunately, bureaucracy had done its best to keep the MLE from interacting with the department of Dark creatures, and so Elphinstone had no idea the rather too appropriately named Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

Elphinstone continued on, sorrowfully, "Poor blighter. I had a friend, Augustine, in just the same situation after the war with Grindelwald. Home destroyed, family dead, friends split apart by death and betrayal-- when we were tracking down a rogue agent of Grindelwald, Augustine ended up smothered by a Lethifold. His partner said Augustine told him to keep on mission. He'd fight off the Lethifold on his own-- but Augustine died. We ought to keep an eye on the Lupin lad. Always thought if Augustine had someone to stay alive for, he'd have had enough happiness to make a Patronus."

Minerva stroked the hair away from Harry’s forehead. “See Kit,” she murmured, “how many people still alive still love you.”


	3. Chapter Three

Minerva wasn’t the sort of person who enjoyed hen parties-- as a concept or as an actual event-- and so was happy with the small luncheon Pomona hastily put together before the wedding. They all passed around Harry and cooed at him until his diaper needed to be changed, and then gladly passed him onto Remus Lupin, who Minerva had pointedly asked to watch Harry all day. The way Remus was looking, Minerva did not like to leave him idle.

“Poor lad,” said Pomona, topping up everyone’s glasses of champagne, as Remus wandered out to change Harry. “I remember him and James Potter, and Sirius Black, and poor Peter Pettigrew--”

Pomona grew misty eyed and sniffed.

“Inseparable, the four of them,” said Minerva, who, despite herself, did love a good gossip with her coworkers when given the chance. “Potter and Black took a few years to get over their pureblooded upbringings, but--” She paused, and mentally revised. “Well, James Potter did. He was a good lad. A little arrogant, but immensely talented in Transfiguration, I told him I’d be happy to help him become an Animagus if he wished. He had the skill for it. He grinned fit to burst at the idea and said he’d think about it, but then....”

Minerva’s mother burstled over, arms full of dress robes. “It quite flew my mind, Minerva-- you taught that Sirius Black, didn’t you? Did you ever think he’d turn out so bad?” Then, darkly, “We Rosses were never pure enough to interact with them much, but I always thought they bred a kind of madness into their line by intermarrying as they did.”

Semele Greengrass nodded regally. The Greengrasses were less married to pureblooded ideology than most of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and though they could not exactly look down upon the Blacks, they did look askance at them. “You’d be quite correct, Mrs. McGonagall. You’ve only to look at Bellatrix Black to see that. It’s only a wonder to me that Sirius Black managed to hold it together as long as he did.”

Pomona said, thoughtfully, “I noticed some... instability, but I didn’t think....”  

Amelia Bones shook her head, and took off her monocle to polish it. “Well, no one ever does think, ‘Someone I know will murder a baker’s dozen Muggles and then laugh hysterically at the crime scene,’ do they? That’s no way to function in a civil society. You end up like Auror Moody, only drinking from a hip flask, and barking out, “CONSTANT VIGILANCE’ whenever anyone asks you for advice.”

Daphne Prewett put down the biscuit she had been eating, looking a little queasy. “You’re with the MLE, Amelia, do you think he really did it? I keep hoping there’s been some kind of a mistake, and there was a Muggle gas leak. I know Death Eaters are a ruthless lot-- I still can’t pass the McKinnon house without shuddering-- but I don’t like thinking that a boy Minerva used to complain about as being a prankster turned out a murderer.”

Amelia raised her monocle to a beam of light, to inspect it for dust. “I’ll reserve judgement until the case comes before the Wizenmagot, but the evidence is against him. There's likely a tragic motive behind it, but there is always the chance that the Black madness visited young Sirius in the most horrific circumstances possible."

"I'm glad you don't think him evil," said Pomona. "I can't think of any past student of mine as bad, in the way I can't think of any plant as bad. Some are harmful if they aren't properly tended."

"A very Hufflepuff sentiment," said Amelia, approvingly. She had also been a Hufflepuff. Minerva briefly wondered why it was most of her lasting friendships and relationships were with Hufflepuffs, and hoped it meant good things about her sense of justice. Amelia continued on, "But you know, I'd recuse myself from the Wizenmagot and become a wand for hire if I thought social problems merely stemmed from a handful of evil doers. There are evil actions, yes, but why is it people choose to do them? And what can we do to prevent people from choosing so? Those are my guiding lights."

Daphne still looked faintly anxious. "All the same, Amelia, I can't understand why...." She looked around the room and said, softly, "There are so many people who ought to be here that cannot be."

It was lowering to think of all the funerals they had all attended, and would have to attend after this wedding. Fortunately then, Minerva’s mother exclaimed, “Oh, Minerva! You can’t mean to take that bundle of weeds down the aisle, can you?”

“Let me see that,” said Pomona, and, much to Minerva’s chagrin, tossed it over her shoulder and exclaimed, “Pah! I’ll get you a real bouquet. Be back in a mo.”

Semele picked up a ginger newt. “Have you and Elphinstone agreed upon a honeymoon spot?”

“It’s a surprise,” said Minerva, feigning displeasure.

Amelia laughed. “I daresay Elphinstone will learn not to surprise you in future! Minerva, my dear, I hope you know how very glad we are for you?”

“Thank you,” said Minerva, feeling honestly grateful until her mother came twittering over exclaiming, “Dear Minerva, always so contrary! You hate surprises so much I always thought you’d never surprise me this way! I never thought you’d be one of a husband and children.”

“I went about it in a suitably non-conformist way,” replied Minerva, crisply, so as not to provoke an argument with her mother. “I hope that will reassure you I’m not under the Imperius Curse or some such.”

But now the topic of the wedding had been brought up, there was no escaping it. Minerva was forced into her wedding gown, was asked about the proposal (her friends all laughed at Minerva’s matter-of-fact, “Well we couldn’t adopt Kit if we didn’t get married, and You-Know-Who is gone, so I had no logical reason to say ‘no,’” and Mrs. McGonagall lamented her flippancy), and given a very long lecture on the symbolic meanings of all the flowers Pomona had tied together for her.

This, as it turned out, was but a foretaste of the nonsense that was yet to come. Absolutely everyone had opinions on things Minerva either disliked or did not care about. Would she wear a veil, would she walk down the aisle with someone, would she like her underrobe to have a longer train, etc.

Minvera felt an awful fool in her wedding dress as was, and thought it patently ridiculous that a woman of her accomplishments, at her time of life, might not be trusted to walk between two groups of seated people on her own. Mrs. McGonagall thought otherwise, and they spent the rest of the hen party arguing over how, exactly Minerva would manage the very difficult task of moving ten feet on her own. The argument ended when Minerva threatened to walk down the aisle as a cat, bouquet clamped between her teeth, attached to lead either Mrs. McGonagall or one of Minerva’s brothers could hold, so as to feel that they were, in fact, giving Minerva away.

As it was, Minerva decided merely to Apparate in front of the altar, so as to annoy all members of her immediate family at once. After all, she justified it to herself, one was allowed a few selfish pleasures on one’s wedding day.

Elphinstone merely smiled. “I thought you might make a unique entrance.”

Minerva flashed him a thankful look, and tried to pay attention to the service. She later felt that she ought to have been memorizing more details, or feeling more moved, but mostly she thought, “I wish this old windbag would get on with this,” or “If he keeps in that vow about obedience I’ll transfigure him into a toad,” or “Muggles left all this patriarchal claptrap behind in the 1960s; why can’t we?” Fortunately, Elphinstone, though a soppy romantic, seemed to be terrifically amused by the flashes of annoyance Minerva couldn’t quite control, and once Minerva had actually rolled her eyes at some nonsense about marriage being a right thing in the raising of children, whispered, “I wish I was at all accomplished in Legilemency Some of the looks you’ve been shooting the Archbishop!”

“Better you aren’t,” said Minerva, and Elphinstone chuckled.

She did, however, feel rather mushy when Elphinstone slid the ring on her finger, and prefaced the vows with a mild, “I daresay it goes without speaking, my dear, but here I do vow....”

Minerva managed to remain matter-of-fact when she recited her own vows, but was terrifically embarrassed by having to kiss Elphinstone in front of everyone she knew. It wasn’t unpleasant to kiss Elphinstone, but overall she was very glad when, as they processed back down the wretched aisle, Elphinstone murmured in her ear, “There’s our sop to the masses. We can go on as we like after this.”

It was a vast deal pleasanter working out what they both liked. Elphinstone was slightly old-fashioned and Minerva reserved, so “going on as they liked” turned out to be Minerva tucking her hand in Elphinstone’s elbow as they walked, and the occasional kiss to the forehead. By far, however, Minerva thought, taking Harry back from Remus, she was happiest with her wand at her hip, Elphinstone’s arm gently about her waist, and Harry drooling contentedly in her arms.

“What a sweet boy,” gushed Malcolm’s wife, a friendly, but rather silly American witch named Amanda. “I had no idea you had a kid, Minnie!”

Minerva hated the name ‘Minnie’ more than she could possibly express. She remained vaguely polite as she said, “Kit is a recent acquisition.”

Amanda looked from Minerva to Harry and said, “Hang on....”

“We adopted him yesterday,” Minerva clarified, fighting the urge to speak slowly and loudly. “Kit lost his family.”

Malcolm turned from Elphinstone and clucked at Harry. “Another war orphan. Poor bairn! How’d you end up with him--” and then, just because he knew Minerva hated it “--Minnie?”

“Both his parents were my students,” said Minvera, detached a newly slobbery part of her tartan from Harry’s mouth. “They passed through Gryffindor Tower not--” she felt horribly and suddenly sad at the loss of Lily and James Potter “--not too long ago. Poor Kit had no one else to take him in, so Elphinstone and I adopted him.”

“Awwwww,” said Amanda, looking a bit teary-eyed. “You know what? You’re alright Minnie. Always thought you were kinda... y’know. Scottish. But you’re really just a sap at heart.”

Minerva was speechless at this.

Malcolm snorted. “That-- that sure is Minnie. Just a sap at heart.”

“One who can give you a good clip on the ear still,” Minerva muttered, when Malcolm went to hug her.   

Unfortunately, Amanda proved to have about the average level of critical thinking skills as most people present. Apart from Minerva’s friends, and certain of Elphinstone’s colleagues, the word ‘adoption’ could have been in Mermish for all that people knew about it. Minerva was distinctly unamused, and had some rather scathing things to say about it to Pomona, Semele, and Amelia when they made it down the receiving line.

“Adoption isn't that common,” said Semele, with a careless shrug. “I think your Kit is the first adopted child I have ever met myself. I knew several people raised by grandparents or aunts, but children raised by non-blood relations? It’s a very... modern idea.”

“A very Muggle idea,” translated Pomona, with a chuckle.

“I always did think we were too hampered by blood ties, as a society,” said Amelia. “Don’t let it get to you too much, Minerva. You’ve never let tradition hamper you before. And Kit’s happy with you and Elphinstone.” She nodded to Minerva’s right, where Elphinstone was dotingly showing Harry Minerva’s bouquet.

Harry was in the stage of development in which he could approximate many words. "Faaaaaa waaaa," he gurgled, as he tried to munch on it.

“No, no, Kit,” said Elphinstone, gently, “we appreciate it with our eyes, not with our mouth.”

“Nurrrr,” said Harry, in a compelling counter-argument.

“How about you have a nice bit of mango later, hm? Yum!”

Harry gurgled unintelligibly, in what seemed to be a happy way.

By the time Elphinstone’s family had also decided that a middle-aged woman of Minerva’s character and intelligence had apparently gotten accidentally pregnant and then just... apparently hid it and the resulting child for two years, Minerva had had enough. It was not so much the implications about her sense of propriety and reserve (though that was bad enough), but the specious logical reasoning.  

“I tell you, Uncle Elphie’s knocked her up!” whispered one of Elphinstone’s nieces to another.

“Ugh I really don’t want to think about Uncle Elphie and my Transfiguration professor having a go at it,” said Anjali, who, thought Minerva, rather dryly amused, had only been a year out of Hogwarts. No doubt the idea of any professor having a life outside of Hogwarts was a deeply traumatic one.

The second niece, whom Minerva placed as Nanahini Manu (O in OWLS; NEWT in Transfiguration) said, “Oh come on now! Are we really talking about this?”

“Well Uncle Elphie is carrying around a baby,” countered the the first niece. “Like it or not Anjali, Professor McGonagall--”

“Is right behind you,” said Minerva, dryly.

All three jumped, guiltily, as if they’d been tossing a Fanged Frisbee in the hallways.

“How old is the child your Uncle Elphinstone is holding?” asked Minerva.

Anjali said, guiltily, “Oh! Um, he isn’t a newborn, is he?”

“No, he’s fifteen months.” She raised an eyebrow. “As amusing as your speculations might be, let me end them. Your Uncle Elphinstone and I have an adopted child. His parents were both--” this was harder to stay, and Minerva wondered if it would ever get easier “--both.... both in my House, and had no living relatives. The Death Eaters....” She could not continue, but all three girls looked at her with looks of subdued understanding. They’d all lost friends to Death Eaters, seen support networks collapse and anyone who could scramble to pick up the child left motherless or fatherless, or orphaned entirely. “But don’t go about thinking your Uncle Elphinstone and I got married simply so the Ministry would allow us custody. We got married because he asked and I accepted.”

Anjali, having the good grace to look embarrassed, said, “Oh, er. Sorry Professor. It’s just--”

“So unusual.” She sighed. “I don’t know if any of your parents remember the war against Grindelwald, but I was in magical law enforcement then. The number of children I saw put into orphanages....”

“It’s really decent of you not to wish to see that happen again,” said Seton, wandering by with his partner, a handsome Tahitian fellow in white linen. “M’father thought that might have been the case. He remembered the last war Uncle Elphie Flooing him about all the wretched stuff he saw in the Blitz. Now that Uncle Elphie’s retired, I suppose he’s got no worries about having a sprog of his own.”

The first niece looked puzzled. “Oh, er.”

“Did you assume I would ever quit teaching at Hogwarts?” asked Minerva, in mild disbelief. It had never even occurred to Minerva to be a homemaker. She was sure some women found it very fulfilling, but Minerva knew she’d be enchanting the house to walk about on chicken legs before three months were up. “Believe it or not, Miss--” she searched her memory “Porter, men are likewise capable of childcare.”

Nanahini, who had more sense, and a grounding in whatever vague form of feminism had filtered into popular wizarding culture said, stoutly, “Well I think you and Uncle Elphie have everything very wisely worked out. He doesn’t have to work any longer, so this was an ideal time for the two of you to start a family.”

“Thank you,” said Minerva, a little mollified.  

“Uncle Elphie really takes to the sprog,” said Seton, scratching his chin. “Odd that, thought he was never one for children.”

“Nonsense!” cried his cousin Nanahini. “He was always watching us. I suppose it’s just that your parents were in New Zealand for most of your life, so he couldn’t really babysit, but since we lived in London, he used to come watch us at least one weekend a month. It was rather a treat.”

Minerva knew she wasn’t supposed to, but she now had a favorite niece.

Seton’s partner said, in heavily accented English, that he had heard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been defeated, and the conversation moved towards less dangerous shoals. Of course the arrest of Sirius Black had to be hashed out again, and poor Remus, passing by with a cup of punch and a lost air, overheard, paled, and nearly ran from the room.

Seton’s partner looked puzzled.

“He knew Mr. Black,” Minerva temporized. “As well as any of us at Hogwarts knew him. Which is to say: not at all. Pardon me.”

Minerva recalled Remus's tears in the hospital wing, after Severus Snape had found him out, and then she recalled what happened after: Sirius, pale, distraught, hair as wild as a Romantic poet wandering the moors, crying, "I didn't think-- Remus, you have to believe me, I thought he'd only get whomped by the willow--"

And Remus's expression immediately clearing. "That's all right," he'd said, softly, hoarsely, as Sirius flung himself on the bed, clutching Remus's knees, as Lord Byron might have thrown himself into a sickbed. Remus had stroked Sirius's wild hair back into order, gently, saying, "I knew you weren't thinking, I knew it never crossed your mind Severus would get past the branches-- I knew you didn't mean it."

"I didn't," Sirius had howled into the bedsheets, "I wasn't thinking--"

"Shh, it's alright, I forgive you." Remus looked so relieved it made Minerva recall Albus's infatuation with Grindelwald-- a phrase that had stuck with her rose to her mind: 'I couldn't bear to see what everyone else saw.' Remus had said, in a rallying tone, "Bet you just thought it'd be funny to see Severus flying through the air, away from the tree."

Sirius brightened and looked up, with one of those mercurial shifts of temper that came about in families where too many cousins had married each other. "I did, yeah."

"Poor, besotted boy," Minerva muttered to Pomona, as Remus collapsed bonelessly into a chair at an abandoned table, looking as if someone had delivered a blow to the back of his head with a sock full of nickels.

Pomona turned to her. “I was thinking the same thing myself. Do you know, I used to assign partners based on how charming I thought the couples might be? I wish I’d never had poor Lupin share a pot with Black. I'll keep an eye on him while you're away, Minerva." Then, awkwardly, "He was almost always in bandages at school-- you don't think he'd do a mischief to himself if he wasn't being watched over?"

Minerva hesitated. "I don't think so. The boy's been through so much grief already and hasn't broken. But this...."

“These are exceptional circumstances,” said Pomona.

“Shall I ask Albus?”

“I think it’d be best.”

Minerva mentally girded herself and weaved her way across the room, dodging the well-wishes of various acquaintances.

"Albus, may I ask you a favor?"

"Certainly, Minerva," said Albus, turning graciously from his conversation with various Ministry officials. "It would be a pleasure, particularly if it involves passing by that delightful cake of yours again."

Minerva took his arm and steered him towards the cake table, saying in a low voice, "Albus, would you speak a little to Remus Lupin? The poor lad's twenty-two and lost everyone he loves- and I think this second betrayal by Sirius Black...."

Albus was quiet for nearly two minutes, but that could be more due to the large slice of cake he was methodically consuming than any short term voyage down memory lane. In any event he said, lightly, "It has not been so very long since the one person I thought understood me turned out to be the one person I did not understand. Or, perhaps, willfully misunderstood."

He swept over to where Remus sat outside, forlorn and shabby, staring absently at the joined hands of Seton and his partner. Albus and Remus spent most of the evening talking. At the end of it, Albus looked grave, and Remus composed.

"We are off to Tahiti until the trials end," said Minerva, as Albus came back in, "but as soon as I get your message, Albus, we'll start looking for a place in Hogsmeade. If you have any questions about my lessons, Mr. Lupin, write a note, and Albus will see that it gets to me."

Remus nodded. Albus, all eccentric cheer once more, rambled on for some five minutes about nothing in particular.

“Sometimes I don’t understand what Dumbledore means by it all,” said Elphinstone, as Albus drifted away on that bizarre note. “Do you?”

Minerva snorted. “I have more of an educated guess than most, but Albus must his wonders perform behind a veil of impenetrable mystery.”

“Victorians,” said Elphinstone, shaking his head.

 

***

 

Elphinstone’s brother Wishart ran a pleasant resort of linked bungalows on a quiet, secluded cove, with water so blue Minerva itched to examine the enchantments. It wasn’t tourist season, so the resort was sparsely populated. Though, to keep herself from jumping down the throat of the people who were there, all of whom insisted on calling her ‘Mrs. Urquhart’ instead of ‘Professor McGonagall,’ Minerva amused herself by pretending she was a spy for the Order, and that to reveal her true identity would be to jeopardize the fate of the wizarding world.

The wizarding folk in Tahiti aided in this sense of playacting, as they tended to treat Minerva, Elphinstone, and Harry a natural family. None of them had known Lily Evans or James Potter; none of them knew more about Harry Potter than that he was the Boy Who Lived, and had a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Seton's boyfriend had given them a potion with a heavy base of coconut oil to smooth down Harry's fringe, so the scar could not be seen, and Harry's own color was very close to Elphinstone's, particularly as the Tahitian sun restored all the color British winters had robbed from Elphinstone’s complexion. Minerva was still (narrowly) on the right side of menopause and had eyes green enough to account for Harry's.

Wishart had aspirations of having a resort catering to the richest of purebloods, but as he would not turn away anyone who made reservations, the sorts of purebloods who would instantly recognize Harry by his looks were not present. And so the little family group of Minerva and Elphinstone Urqhart, who had married late, and their son, Kit Urqhart, who had probably come as something of a surprise, and who was correspondingly doted upon by all his extended family, was accepted without question.

Minerva had not been to a beach in many years and opted merely to buy clothes for herself and Harry on the island. She outfitted herself with several floating kaftans in solid-colored crepe-- close enough to robes that she did not feel ridiculous. Harry she equipped with disposable Muggle diapers, several cotton onesies and a Muggle wetsuit so he could dirty himself as much as he liked. Of course, having been outfitted with a whole new wardrobe, Harry decided he'd rather wear nothing at all. After shucking off all his clothes proved unsuccessful, he decided just to be a kitten instead and refused to wear anything, even a diaper.

"If I ever write an article on this, I shall be sure to devote an entire subsection to the unintended consequences of temporarily bestowing one's Animagus powers on an infant," said Minerva. So far Harry was resisting any spell she'd tried to get him to change back. Blood magic was always so impossibly strong.

Wishart laughed. "Save your energy for making him eat his vegetables, Minerva! There are worse ways for a magical child to entertain himself than by transforming into a cat."

"My thanks for the brotherly advice," said Elphinstone, looking quite at home in rolled linen trousers, and a short-sleeved shirt of patterned cotton. "I wonder why he does it- does he feel threatened?"

"Just out of obstinacy, I think," replied Minerva. Harry was enthusiastically stalking one of the many small lizards skittering across the black sand. "His mother could be very mullish if you told her she couldn't do something- and very cheeky, too! His father was probably the greatest troublemaker Hogwarts has ever known. Of course their son--" she felt a choking sense of sadness rise in her throat.

"No, Kit," said Elphinstone, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. "We do not eat the nice lizards. We appreciate them with our eyes, and... paws, I suppose, not with our mouths."

“Still, hunting lizards, in whatever form, is natural for a boy,” opined Wishart,

“Yes,” replied Elphinstone, “but, distressingly enough, he seems to think this is one giant cat box."

Minerva rifled through her book. "I was just reading an essay from Helsinki--"

"Aunt Minerva," exclaimed Nanahini, "are you working?"

"Yes."

"I forbid it," she declared, tossing her thick black hair over her shoulder. “When you aren't enjoying your time with Uncle Elphie and Kit, you will be reading the Jane Heyer novels I purposefully piled on your bed table! You'll love them, they're all about witches and wizards in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century learning to make moral choices and improving themselves, while being very witty besides."

After the first three, Minerva grudgingly admitted her new niece had a point, and spent the rest of the time back reading Ms. Heyer's extensive back catalogue. Even with Harry's nightmares, it was the most relaxing vacation she'd ever been on. Elphinstone was more than capable of fighting off any Death Eaters foolish enough to track them down, and his family was full of willing babysitters. Harry too, was, touchingly (almost unexpectedly) growing attached to them. He would still cry, "Maaaa!" In a heartrending way around midnight every evening, but he would reach out for Minerva each morning, and would tug insistently at Elphinstone's trouser leg when he wanted to go play in the water with him. Elphinstone quite delighted in playing with Harry, showing him all the fish and birds that had rendered his summer holidays colorful. Harry was even roused to a screeching enthusiasm at the sight of a flock of wild phoenixes winging their way across the water. He waved his chubby arms as if trying to fly too.

"When he's a little older, you'll have to try him on a broom, Minerva!" Elphinstone called, up to his calves in the water, Harry balanced on his hip. "Until then-- whee!" He raised Harry overhead. Harry squealed in delight.

The only shadow during their time in Tahiti came the day they caught up with the Daily Prophet.

Seton delivered them the papers drawing a whistling breath in through the slight gap in his front teeth. "Make sure Uncle Elphie doesn't drink anything while reading these, Aunt Minnie. Barty Crouch is eradicating Uncle Elphie's legacy for fairness and openness. Uncle Elphie's such a Hufflepuff-- I wonder how he ended up with the Head of Gryffindor house!"

"You have to have a certain amount of bravery and daring to force fairness and justice on the wizarding world." Minerva scanned the papers herself before she took them in to where Elphinstone was feeding Harry mashed banana.

"Anything about the trials in the paper?" asked Elphinstone, flicking his wand to clean up the mashed banana everywhere on Harry's face but his mouth.

"Finish with Kit first," said Minerva. "I know you seldom get angry, but you will when you read what Barty Crouch is doing. Or not doing."

And what he was not doing was giving people trials. Minerva was in cat form on the beach, showing Harry how to hunt properly, when Elphinstone came stalking out, clutching a long waxed board.

Minerva popped up into human form, grabbing Harry by the scruff before he could run into the sea, as he had been planning to do. "Elphinstone?"

"You can work near forty years since the fall of Grindelwald to make the world a better place, a fairer place, where all the mechanisms of law and order are not only working but understood, but in one fell swoop, your successor comes along and negates the work of decades!" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wrote a furious letter to the Prophet, I hope they edit out all the profanities before publication. I can't-- I'm too angry to do anything but exercise myself into a stupor."

Wizard surfing was nearly as difficult as Quidditch, if a bit more magical. It was a tricky bit of business, getting the waves to obey your will. After an hour or two, Elphinstone offered to take Minerva out (she declined, partly feeling she'd be bad at it, partly wanting to know how the witty half-blood sorceress in her novel dealt with the snobbery of her love interest, a dashing pureblood). Elphinstone took out Harry instead, after triple checking that the charm on the water wings was strong enough to let Harry hover three inches above the water as soon as he fell in. They mostly sat on the board and bobbed up and down on the conjured waves, Harry occasionally screeching out almost-words at the local fish and fauna.

Minerva immersed herself in her novel until they came in again.

"Nap time Kit," Minerva said firmly, adjusting the umbrella. Harry fussed at her a little, but he was growing used to the strict schedule Minerva kept for him, and fell asleep as soon as he was placed on the beach blanket.

Elphinstone stared broodingly at the waves for some time before saying, "Minerva, I don't think I've ever been so angry in all my life! A prisoner given a life sentence in Azkaban without a trial!"

"For Sirius Black, perhaps it..." But Minerva could not finish. It did not sit right with her, either.

"We have more reason than most to hate what Sirius Black has done," Elphinstone said, waving at Harry,who, fast-asleep, was sucking happily on his fist. "But still! Everyone deserves a trial, no matter their blood status or guilt. Everyone."

Minerva watched Harry. “It makes me wonder, Elphinstone, if we’re raising a child in a better world than the one in which we grew up.”

“Fewer homicidal maniacs,” said Elphinstone bitterly, “but routine miscarriages of justice. It is difficult to weigh the one against the other.”

Minerva felt a sense of deep unease. She had always thought the wizarding world a better, fairer place than the Muggle one. She looked down at Harry. “Well,” she said, grimly, “we’ll teach Kit the difference between the way things are, and the way they ought to be. And, more importantly, the proper way to get there.”

Elphinstone was a little calmer. He managed a smile and said, “Let’s perhaps work on teaching him to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ first.”

“Baby steps,” agreed Minerva.


End file.
